I'd like to start with a public service announcement. If you have any left-over, useless trophies cluttering up your house, please send them to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue Washington D.C. Extra points if they are "gold" (fools or otherwise). There is a little boy there who just llovveess participation trophies to cover the fact he was never loved. Dementia is just an added bonus, so anything works.
Well 12 days post-surgery and the word of the day is OUCH. Every time I get a PT appointment, we find areas that were not sensitive before now frantically raising their phantom hands. Pick me, feel me, try to sit/stand/crawl without noticing me. On the other hand, all my PT/OT torturers call me a dream patient. I'm sorry I thought getting your butt up and moving was the point. I like to greet them at the door and they are surprised I am the patient. What do they usually look for? Someone with a walker or cane apparently. They tell me stories about patients who do not cooperate or are afraid they will break, like the one who didn't move for a month and a half and then blamed the doctor they're not healing. Or the one who asked if she could light up and the PT person said "no!". They lit up anyway with a rum and coke at their elbow...at 11 am. Cracked me up. I didn't know we could drink during these appointments. Aren't those a no-no? Well yeah.
Apparently, my surgeon keeps the hospital and rehab companies busy. I was one of SIX procedures he did that day. I think I was number 3. Everybody was cool except the creepy anesthesia boss who appeared irritated that I had allergies and cancer at one time. Apparently, it messed up his "usual" chemical cocktail for knock out time. Instead of bitching at me, look at the fricking chart, which he had to do eventually which also irritated him. However, his gaggle of employees were like the three stooges as they came in after he left to do the actual procedure. I mean stooges in a hilarious way, not incompetent. They actually acted as if they liked people and wanted me to have an easy and good time, or as much as you can, I guess. Continual patter of dumb jokes, me participating, as they kept searching for exactly the right spot in my spine for the first injection.
A smaller woman was supporting me as I leaned forward for the spinal and we both mused on what would actually happen if I took a dive off the bed. We agreed I would not do that. My leg did some amazing gyrations and dance steps as they probed some interesting nerves in my back. Fortunately, they were the ones in the operating room, not Mr. Grumpy. As I'm wide awake, though numb, I asked if they were putting me out or not. (I believe I actually said please) Oh yes, first one little druggie goes in and then here's number two and you'll be in sleepy time (yes, he did) in two minutes oh ha ha. Of course, my next conscious thought was in a very busy recovery ward.
People were coming and going, and the nurses were wearing track shoes and exhaustion. Though only serving soda crackers was a little off-putting. Which as I had nausea for 2-3 days, it was probably for the best. However, tradition dictates a large McD's chocolate shake on the ride home. I believe that baby was downed in less than five minutes. Sooo good. At any rate, my routine is walking, walking, walking, then icing, icing, icing. I do the dishes for therapy and the OH is on shopping, laundry duty and cooking, etc. etc. He attempted two homemade soups that turned out well. One friend dropped off some very spicy homemade broccoli cheddar, and another brought us chicken dinners from a community dinner. A third friend offered soup, but I asked if she could do a casserole instead to give the cook a break. Wow there was a lot going on in that casserole. If I hadn't already been back to "regular" so to speak that dinner put me on a "fast track" the next day. Cleanliness is next to healing I say.
Two more home PT appointments, one sign-off from the nurse, recheck from the doctor and I'm on my own to make or break. Oops we don't use the "b" word. Infection and falls are the enemies. I've been managing a shower every day and hair wash every 2 or 3 so that feels normal. Putting on my pants, drawers, and socks are new skills to be developed but I am persevering. Working against me of course, are stubbornness and impatience, but we'll get there. (Remember Kathy? Mother please, I'd rather do it myself!)
I feel guilty not doing more but I am definitely enjoying the plethora of paperbacks my big sis gifted me with. Walking is the best therapy, and I have to do so every hour. I'm up to 2 miles (a day) in 500 steps increments. Nurse called me today to schedule her appointment and wanted to know if I was taking pain drugs. I said yes, Tylenol. This was after I told her I was achy today. Long silence. Sometimes silence speaks volumes. But as I said before I got "regular" within a few days so it's worth it. I "cane step" up and down the stairs, but I was instructed to use the walker if I go outside. Considering the crappy weather, I am happy to watch it from the window.
The doc gave the OH a really cool x-ray of my new "companion". I am becoming the bionic woman with knee and leg titanium bones. Apparently, the ball takes a while to set in the socket tightly, hence the tremendous fear of slipping, falling or generally jerking the joint for a couple of months. Apparently, sky diving, salsa and bungee jumping are off the table for a while. However, bone shaped pretzels are perfectly acceptable and encouraged. Peace out/stay strong/love your neighbor 💚 💙💛
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